But it was two youthful miscreants who
enlivened last week’s happy hour. Every Friday afternoon Covenant Woods serves
the residents wine, beer and munchies. Two of the younger
residents, however, had been working on getting happy long before
the appointed hour. The older of the two joined us in the library toward the
end of the hour and reached for a bottle of wine, only to have Penelope, the activities
director, swoop down and snatch it away.
She offered him a Sprite, which he declined. After some not always polite discussion, the tipsy gent was sent to his apartment.
Apparently, his young friend wasn’t noticeably drunk
at the start of happy hour – I got there halfway through – but he was getting
obnoxious when it ended. Al, a retired Army colonel in his late eighties, told the much younger man, “You’re making a damn fool of yourself.” Undeterred, he went on making a
damn fool of himself, even after he and everyone else had adjourned to the dining
room, where Penelope played bouncer for the second time.
Saturday evening, Al didn’t tell me that I’m
a damn fool, but he did tell me to be careful. I was out taking my evening tour
of the grounds, and as is my wont, I went down the entry road to the main road,
which is a busy four-lane affair. Just as I was turning around, Al came by in
his car. “You shouldn’t come down here, and don’t even think about crossing the
street,” he said. And he asked if I had a cell phone on me – I did – in case I
needed help. Sunday morning, he came into the library as I was availing myself
of the Wi-Fi and said several residents over the years had wandered out on to
the road. He said he once came upon a resident in a wheelchair crossing the
road who had no idea where she was. Now it scares him whenever he sees a
resident, whether walking or in a wheelchair, near the road.
A long hallway connects Building B, where I
live, to the main building that houses the offices, dining room, the activity
room, the library, and a few other things. There are lots of windows along the
way; it is not a dark and dreary place. But the hall isn’t wide enough for two
wheelchairs to pass, which results in those of us in them and those who use
walkers spending time waving each other on and saying, “No, no, you go first.”
Music is piped into the hallway. On my first
trip down the hall, I assumed it came from Sirius or some elevator music
supplier. But it wasn’t long before I came to the conclusion that there must be
a pile of CDs stashed somewhere. I’m also convinced the person who selects the
music changes weekly. The award for the programmer with the most eclectic taste
goes to the person who was running the show my first week here. It seemed that
each trip up or down the hallway that week was accompanied by either Patsy Kline
singing “Walking After Midnight,” or a classical orchestra playing J.S. Bach’s “Sheep May Safely Graze.”
I don’t know the words to many country
standards, but I am familiar with “Walking after Midnight.” Anna was an
Ash/Craft client I worked with for a few months in the early nineties. She was
a short woman, a little on the pudgy side, nervous when she was in groups, and
she had an accent right out of a West Virginia holler. But, oh, could the lady
sing, and she knew a huge number of country songs. Anna was always anxious to
get home, but she was scared to venture out into the hallways when they were
filled with other clients rushing to the buses, and she would ask me to
walk with her. As we made our way to her bus, she would look up to me with her
big blue eyes and a smile that seemed to say, "Oh, Tom, you’re my hero,” and
sing “Walking after Midnight”.
Back in the halls of Covenant Woods, we
listened to soft, instrumental versions of “Moon River” and “The Days of Wine
and Roses” for a week. Last week was big band week: mostly Glenn Miller, and
mostly “Moonlight Serenade” and “In the Mood,” another song that takes me back
to the days when I was out and about and an intrepid sports reporter for the
Star Beacon. One Saturday I covering a basketball game at Pymatuning Valley
High School, and PV Jazz, a group far superior to your average high school pep
band, was entertaining the crowd between the JV and varsity games. One of their
selections was “In the Mood,” and across the way from me, two white-haired
ladies clapped and swayed to the music just as they must have when they were
young and the song was new.
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